


Nightmare, Nightmare, Gone Away

by flamingburningfandomtrash



Category: Underfell - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Sans is smol, it aint sexy, its sad before it gets fluffy, its two lazy bois making each other feel better how good can it get, itsssss bath time, kisses kisses kisses kissssssesss, nightmares tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingburningfandomtrash/pseuds/flamingburningfandomtrash
Summary: Sans gets nightmares!Sans needs some Help!And you!!!!Help!!!!!!!!
Relationships: underfell sans/ reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	Nightmare, Nightmare, Gone Away

**Author's Note:**

> ive had this in my "eh maybe later" pile for so dang long all it needed was a good ending :/

You remember the conversation with an ironic sort of amusement.

“so, uh… first thing you oughta know.” He sounded so insecure, you remember being so worried. “‘f you really wanna let me move in, uh… i got real bad nightmares. real bad at sleepin’.”

You remember feeling awful for him. He’d never sounded so nervous in all the time you’d known him.

“No, it’s fine. We can handle a few nightmares.” (Famous last words.) “Besides, why would that mean I wouldn’t want you to move in?”

“i dunno, they get really bad. roll around in my sleep and shit.”

“So we save up for a big bed.”

Even now, you don’t feel you regret saying it. The look on his face was adorable. He looked so relieved. Now, though, he does not look remotely that way. You’re propped up on your elbow, shaking his shoulder and trying to convince him to wake up. He’s curled in the fetal position on his side, skull clutched in his hands, breathing raggedly. You pick him up as best you can- he may be small, but he’s heavy- sit his skull in your lap, gently rub his shoulders, and press kisses over his eyesockets.

“Wake up,” you say, as coaxingly as possible. “Hey. You gotta wake up.”

You rub a circle over his sternum, trying to comfort his soul as well as you know how. He gives out something that sounds like a mix of a groan and a whimper, shrinking into your lap and holding onto the sheets tightly. They’re all bunched up in his fists- you think at this rate he’ll just rip holes in them.

“Sans… wake up…” you say, starting to get concerned that he’s in actual pain.

“she di’n do nothin’, don’ hurt’er…”

“Sans, wake up.”

His body lurches forward a little, and he starts to shake. “stop, don’ hurt’er-”

You wonder if he’s dreaming about someone in the Underground, or if it’s about you. He reaches out- luckily away from you- and summons an attack. Before he attacks anything- or anyONE- with it, you grab his hands and pull them back. He whimpers- a full on, terrified noise, and then wakes up with a start. His eyelights dart around, and he sits up abruptly, wobbly and sick-looking, before finally turning to you. You’ve never seen him look so scared. Tiny eyelights, hands held in weak fists, held at his sides defensively. He looks like he’s been thrown into a fight he doesn’t want to be a part of. 

“It’s just me, baby,” you murmur, putting your hands up and sitting up next to him fully. He seems to relax, or maybe deflate, looking defeated.

You hold your arms out, and he shifts into them, wrapping himself around you, breath hitching. For a long second, he can’t manage a single word. He just holds you close, bent over you slightly like he’s trying to block a bomb with his body. He may be just the same size as you, but he feels so painfully small right now. 

“god… it’s been ages, i thought it was… it was over, but… shit…”

He might as well have shrunk to half his size. He’s curled in on himself, burying his head in your shoulder, choking and trembling. You rub his back, up and down, vertebrae by vertebrae. When you feel the hot tears on your nightshirt, you rock back and forth in an attempt to soothe him. 

“i- i-i dunno what’s- what’s wrong wi’ me- i- ‘m sorry-“

“Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“why’m i-“ he reaches up and scratches at his face, trying to clear away the tears. A bit of a challenge, bone on bone. It looks painful. “god, ‘m so useless- the hell’m i doin’?”

“You’re just crying. You’re scared and you lost your bearings, it doesn’t mean you’re useless… you can cry here, I won’t think any less of you. Just let it out.”

“ya s-sure?”

“Mm-hmm…”

He seems to fall to pieces. Slowly, at first, looking ashamed of crying in the first place. It’s just quiet, choked noises, the little wet spot on your shoulder growing. You don’t know what you must have done to trigger it, but he suddenly just falls to pieces. He pulls his hands around to your back, hiccuping and choking and sobbing. He takes fistfuls of your shirt, of your flesh, pulling you to himself, face in the junction of your neck and shoulder. You rock and hush and do everything you can to try and make him feel safer, but it doesn’t do anything but make him hold you tighter. It’s like he needs you to breathe or something. 

“‘m so f*ckin’ stupid, just ‘cause i’m sleepin’ wit’cha doesn’t mean they’ll STOP-“

“You’re not stupid. You’re safe, I’m here….”

“god…” he says, sounding like the words punched him square in the chest. “not without’cha, not again…”

“What?”

“i can’t- i can’t keep doin’- it HURTS, baby, feels like my soul’s gonna die-“

You get the feeling he can’t hear you, or at least can’t register your words just yet. “You are not going to die… just stay with me for ten minutes, okay? Can you breathe with me for ten minutes?”

He nods, after a brief pause. His breath hitches over and over as he tries to get ahold of himself. You rub his back, reminding him of your continued presence. His hands, ever so slowly, relax from around your back, and he moves them in front of him. You take them, which finally coaxes his head up, pressing his hard forehead against your soft one. And after what must be the longest ten minutes of your life, he finally loses steam. The hiccups soften to slow breaths, and the tenseness in his whole body releases. He finally takes one long breath in tandem with you. Seemingly, though, he wants you close, because he hugs you again, face buried in your chest. 

“You want to tell me what it was about?” you ask, softly, as he hiccups. “My parents used to tell me if you said them out loud, they couldn’t ever come back. They lose their power if you tell them to someone. Always worked for me… you wanna try it?”

“no,” he murmurs, sounding like he just got out of a beating. “don’t make me, please…”

“Okay… I’m not gonna make you do anything, just breathe. You wanna go back to sleep?”

“i… no. you should get some rest. i’ll be fine, babe, thanks.”

You sigh and shake your head. He’s so bad at asking for things he wants.

“Then I’ll stay up with you. We’re in this together, Sans.”

“no. you need to sleep.”

“You know what… let’s go bake something. You ever baked before? It’s really relaxing.”

“darlin’, ya need sleep.”

“Not without you. C’mon, we gotta do something.”

You have that tone that clues him into the fact that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He knows full well he could force you to stay in bed, but you would keep your eyes wide open and talk the whole time. He might as well just play along until you’re satisfied.

“You wanna do something slower? It’s been a while since I’ve heard you sing…”

“slower sounds nice. quiet’s nice.”

(That’s his way of saying, please, please, let us pretty please do something quiet. You’re well aware.)

“You want to watch a movie? A slow movie?”

“nah… really, we could just go back ta sleep.”

“How’s a bath sound? You and me. Just taking a breather. You need one, anyway.”

“i… yeah. yeah, that sounds good. okay.”

He has to admire that little spark in your eyes that tells him you’re happy he’s found something that sounds nice to him. You get up, stretch, and hold out a hand. He takes it, getting up on still-wobbling legs, and follows you to the bathroom. You fill the tub with warm water and bath salts and bath bombs and bubbles, even tossing in the little pufferfish bath toy that lights up pink when you shake it. In the meantime, you talk, gently. He’s aware you’re trying to keep him from getting too lost in his thoughts- but he has to admit it’s effective.

“Tomorrow we’re gonna be pretty tired, so we’ll take it easy. Lucky it’s Friday, I’d have to take a day off work if it were a weeknight… is it too warm?”

He shrugs, dipping a hand in the water. “don’t mind too much.”

“Right… we can watch some mobster movies and just have a lazy day. I can wrap up that report on my computer, and you can read… it’ll be nice.”

“sounds good.”

You turn to him, putting a hand on your hip.

“Sans, you gotta give me something here. C’mon, tell me something interesting.”

“uh… ants count their steps?”

“Do uncles?”

He gives you a look, but then it slowly blossoms into a smile.

“okay. ya got me there.”

You cross over to him and press a little kiss to his mouth, holding his face in your hands. His travel to your hips, caressing you with his thumbs and humming lowly.

“There’s my Sans.”

“heh… alright, doll, you win. shall we?”

You giggle- “We shall.”

After playfully- stupidly- getting each other naked, you let out a long whistle and poke his ribs. You always made comments (you think they sound perfectly normal, but he was always weirded out a little) about how his bones look sturdy. You always say he could build a house over his ribcage. Despite him not quite understanding the praise at first, you explained that it made you feel safe having someone like him look after you. He liked that- a lot, actually. 

“Look at you,” you say, cheerily, putting your hands on his chest and pushing him a little. “You could build a house.”

“too lazy,” he shrugs, scooping you up bridal style and nuzzling the space between your eyes. “you could be a pillow.”

“I have been. For you.”

“my perfect pillow…”

For whatever reason, you see his eyelights shrink after he says that, and he stares off over your shoulder, mind clearly somewhere else. You reach up and hold his face in your hand again, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb until he looks back at you. 

“‘m sorry, doll, ’m sorry…”

“It’s okay… just stay here for a minute. Relax.”

“i…”

“It’s okay.”

He finally just sighs and lowers you into the bath water, following with himself, and curls up around you until you’re sitting in between his legs, your back to his chest. Safe.

“This is nice,” you mumble, tilting your head back to look at him with a little smile. “How you feeling?”

“better,” he admits, leaning forward to kiss you, upside-down. “here, at least.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“heh…”

He gently traces little patterns over your collarbone and shoulders, over your back, swirls and stars and circles, simply taking a moment to admire your body. You’re unmarred, unhurt, whole. Whenever you see his body, he always worries you’ll be disgusted by it. More scars than he’s thought to count, a candle-flame soul flickering weakly through his chest. But all you can think of is how safe he makes you feel. How all those scars are signs he’s come out stronger. That’s a lie. These scars are from near misses, from him turning tail and running from fights rather than be killed. Marks of his own shame.

He feels you turn around a little, and he meets your eyes blankly. Would it be that bad if he died? You’d find some way to protect yourself from this world, and the thought of a release as sweet as death makes his soul ache with longing. He just doesn’t want to worry about anything anymore, is that so much to ask? 

But you put your hand on his face, and he’s reminded why he stays here. Because, even if you don’t need him, he needs you. He needs to wake up to your beautiful face, your perfect smiles, your ingenuity and laughter and boundless love for him. He just needs the reminder of your presence. Heaven and hell are both worthless to him if he doesn’t have you by his side. This place is heaven, right where he is, unrivaled by any other feeling. 

“You’re doing the thing again,” you mumble, waving your hand in front of his face. “You have this face you make when you’re thinking too hard about things, and you’re making it, and you’ve gotta stop thinking for a minute. Can you just stay with me, please?”

“easier said than done, baby.”

“Not if you have something distracting to do.”

“. . . we would splash water everywhere.”

“Oh- oh, no, oh my god, not that,” you snort, facepalming. “I meant just talking.”

“aw, denying a man his guilty pleasures?”

“You are insane sometimes, you know that? Utterly insane. But that means you’re here for the most part, so I’ll let that one slide.”

“ooh, lucky me.”

“Shush. What do you wanna talk about?” 

He watches you curiously as you grab the little puffball off the faucet and dunk it in the soapy water. He never knew what that thing was for. Decoration was his guess, but you clearly plan to use it somehow. You grab a bottle of a honey-colored goopy stuff, which you pour on the puff ball, then shake and rub it a little with your hands until it turns into a weird lathery foam. You notice him watching.

“It’s soap.”

“guessed as much,” he shrugs. “whaddya gonna do with it, s’what i’m wonderin’.” 

“Use it on you,” you say. “Arm.”

He holds out his arm, slightly tense with apprehension and having no idea what to expect. However, when you start moving the soft puff of cloth over his bones, it’s instantly relaxing. Like a massage of some kind. He offers his other arm hurriedly when you’re finished with the first, causing you to laugh. Soon you’ve finished both arms and both legs, going so far as to delicately clean off his pelvis under the water. That part felt a little uncomfortable, but you did a good job of not hitting his sensitive spots too hard. When you finally get to his chest, you hesitate.

“It won’t hurt, right?” you ask, softly, looking at the large scar going from one of his shoulders to the opposite hip. “I don’t think it will, but I don’t want to, uh…”

“memories?”

“Yeah.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he murmurs. “yer good at makin’ it feel better.”

You smile, then go for it, letting your fingers caress gently over each nick and scratch and scar in the bone. He giggles a little when you brush over the inside of his ribs, but otherwise you try to keep it as relaxing an experience as you can. He’s never felt so at peace with you before, just watching you clean old wounds with your loving hands and the look in your eyes that tells him you aren’t bothered by the age-old scarring. 

“Do you remember what all of these are from? I’d lose track…”

“same. you just try to let it all go, i guess.”

“Good,” you say, gently smoothing over the largest scar. “That’s really good.”

After a nice, thorough wash, he’s much more relaxed and drowsy than before. You smile as he starts to nod off a little, rubbing a hand on his face to keep him awake enough.

“‘m sorry…” he mumbles, blinking to keep himself conscious. 

“No, it’s good… you feel safe. That’s good. But you can’t fall asleep here, baby.”

“yer so good ta me…”

“What?”

“takin’ care’a my lazy ass… keepin’ me safe… yer so good. love ya so much.”

“Sans, don’t self-deprecate while I’m trying to-“

“hope you marry me one day. hope so. i’d love that.”

You’re speechless for a moment, then you smile.

“Yeah, I would, too.”

“yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You laugh at the grin he gives you, slow and wide and borderline dopey. He reaches up a little and pushes some of your wet hair out of your eyes.

“don’t ever wanna live in a world that don’t have you in it, doll, never. you watch, imma make me ’n my shit worth yer time, i promise.”

“You already are.”

He leans forward- you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he wraps his arms around your middle instead. You hug him back, humming when he nuzzles his face into your neck. This time, though, he hums back, squeezing you.

“i’ll try damn hard to keep you safe,” he says. “i’ll try, baby, i’ll do everythin’ i can…”

“I know you will. It’s okay.”

“you got me.”

“I got you.”

“you wanna go back in there and sleep? ‘cause i’m sleepin’ either way.”

“You have to get out of the bathtub, honey. But we gotta get all the soap off of you first.”

He looks slightly put out, and he frowns- but then a shit-eating grin comes over his face. He holds your waist, and before you can register what’s happening, he’s tilted you backward and himself forward, effectively dunking the both of you under the water. You come up spluttering and rubbing the soapy water out of your eyes, coughing and laughing. The look on his face is much too smug, in your opinion.

“well, would’ja look at that. we’re both clean.”

“Oh, screw you,” you laugh, smoothing back your now-messed-up hair. 

“’s that an option, sexy?”

“Oh my god, Sans.”

“aww, look’t you, gettin’ all flustered- yer so cute when yer blushin’.”

“Shut up!”

“’s true. tomata.”

You splash him, hiding your face in your hands. It’s not very effective. He chuckles and scoots forward, wrapping his legs around your crossed ones, and pulling himself into your lap. You get even more flustered having him in your personal space- nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck makes you truly match his nickname for you.

“some other night when i wasn’t bawlin’ my damn eyes out before, imma reward you so good for doin’ this for me…”

“Thanks,” you mumble. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together: you get so many butterflies when he talks in that special low voice he only ever uses on you.

“yer welcome,” he says, laughing at your awkward reply. “but uh… we gotta go to sleep just yet, or would ya mind if i kissed ya for a couple’a minutes?”

“Mmm… well. Maybe for just, five minutes. But can we not do it here?”

“sure, baby.”

You do your typical stupid splash-and-push-and-poke on the way out of the tub, drying one another off gently. He goes to put his same clothes back on, but you swat them out of his hands and bring him the pajamas you bought him pretty recently. They’re honestly just the same brand and size you buy for yourself, but they’re a deep red that he can appreciate. They’re soft as hell, too. 

“aw, this ain’t a special occasion. i can just sleep in my clothes.”

“Baby. Anything’s a special occasion if you want it to be. And tonight is No Nightmares Yes Kisses night. So of course you should wear them.”

He laughs and pulls them on, letting you button up the front for him. He doesn’t get buttons. Zippers, sure. Buttons are just annoying. 

“i love you,” he says, softly, moving a little in the soft clothes. They feel better than anything he’s ever worn on his sensitive bones, especially with the marks on his ribcage and sternum. He can’t chafe, per se, but the scratching of a pilling shirt is annoying as hell. You’re so good to buy him these, honestly. So good to him.

“I love you too, ya big softie. C’mon, I want kisses.”

He follows you back into your room, where you flop onto the bed, shimmy back under the sheets, and turn towards him. He copies you, pulls you to him similarly to how you held him earlier, and kisses you from your cheek to your neck and back up again. Nuzzles, they’re properly called. He can’t exactly kiss, but he tries. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Eventually, though, even he starts to doze off. 

“can you stay awake until i fall asleep…”

“Sure. I’ll protect you. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

“’s ok…”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“love ya.”

When sleep kindly takes him again, you kiss his forehead and follow. Absolutely nothin’ is happening to him while he sleeps: not on your watch.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone draws Sans in the pajamas i will personally take an underfell prompt from them and gift it  
> i need someone with better arting skills to do me a doodle


End file.
